sugarplumsncupcakes

    Liz looked around the costume rack hastily for something, anything, that would cover the telltale red dot on her right forearm. An old sweater, a jacket, she didn’t care…    She pushed through a second rack of clothes. But to her surprise, there was someone curled up, asleep, behind it. Liz gasped. It was Kenneth.    The page sat up. “I wasn’t resting.” Although he was looking at her, his blue eyes were not completely focused. “A Parcell man never lies down on the job. Unless… that job involves milking pig teats.” He squinted at Liz’s arm. “Ms Lemon, what is that?”    

 “Lutz, John?” “Here.” “Lemon, Elizabeth?” “Here.” Liz responded distractedly. She couldn’t stop staring at 30 Rockefeller Centre, smoke erupting from all windows, flaming tongues of fire erasing everything she’d worked towards for years. She wiped the tears from her blurry, brown eyes, vowing not to cry in front of the writers. Liz was hardly listening when the call for ‘Parcell, Kenneth’ wasn’t answered. She looked up curiously, scanning the crowd for Kenneth’s distinctive page jacket and neatly combed blonde hair. She saw no such thing. Dread began to c